The Eggplant
by Taste of Violets
Summary: House and Wilson go grocery shopping. Domestic disputes in the produce aisle? Why must you always embarrass me? Silly slash.


The Eggplant

By taste of violets

Disclaimer: I don't own House. It belongs to FOX, David Shore, et al.

[note: Written before season six began, when the picky eater/cooking thing was still canon. Maybe pretend he lost interest in it after a while?]

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"Hold on—what the hell was that?"

"What do you mean? What was what?"

"Don't pretend you don't know. Was that a squash?"

"Nope." Wilson pushed the grocery cart hurriedly up the produce aisle, ahead of House's reach. "You wanted Jell-O, right? How about if you go get that, while I—"

"The Jell-O diversion? _Please_." House hooked the end of his cane around the bar of the grocery cart and, with a yank, stopped its progress. "That trick is ancient. Get creative. I _know_ you slipped something vegetable into that cart."

"Will you just leave it? Come on." Wilson tried to push the cart forward, but House pulled it backwards, hard, and it rolled over Wilson's foot. Wilson leapt back in pain. "House!" he bellowed.

"Sorry. Thought you might like it if we were both gimps together. Easier to bond." House rummaged around in the bottom of the cart, overturning a bunch of bananas, three cans of tuna, a bag of potato chips, two boxes of Lucky Charms and one of Grape-Nuts, and…

"An _eggplant_." House's voice dripped with disgust as he produced the vegetable from the cart and held it at arm's length. "Are you going to _eat_ this?"

"_We're_ going to eat it. It's for dinner. Tonight."

"No, _you're_ going to eat it. I'm going to eat a peanut butter sandwich. This looks disgusting."

"What are you, a child?" Wilson grabbed the eggplant out of House's hand and laid it lovingly back into the cart. "Maybe if _you_ cooked dinner once in a while—"

"I cook once a week!"

"—that contained any vegetable other than ketchup—"

"Now you're just being picky."

Wilson put his hands on his hips. "Remind me what you made for dinner last week."

"Fish sticks," House said. "Microwaved to perfection. I might even say _al dente_."

"And the week before that?"

"Oh, you know I have no memory for details." House swung his cane back and forth, almost knocking over an array of asparagus. "A failing in my profession, I know. By the way, what day is our anniversary again?"

Wilson's mouth was a thin, unamused line. "The week before last you made chicken noodle soup. And I use the word 'made' loosely, considering all you did was dump it out of a can."

"_And_ heat it up. I'm not a barbarian, Wilson."

"You had promised the day before you would make a salad as a side dish. When I asked you where the salad was, you tossed me a banana and said 'Have some potassium.'"

"I _like_ the way you eat bananas." House waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? Well listen, there won't be any more banana-eating, or anything else, until—"

"_Excuse_ me," said a cold voice behind them, and a middle-aged woman shoved her cart between them through the narrow aisle.

As the woman squeezed past them, House fixed Wilson with a long-suffering gaze. "Domestic disputes in the produce aisle? Why must you _always_ embarrass me?"

"You're the embarrassment!" Wilson snapped. "You were right in her way!"

"Oh honey, let's not fight tonight."

"Don't talk like that in public, what did we agree on?"

"Aw, look who's embarrassed now!"

"Okay, we'll see who's the embarrassed one—" Wilson grabbed House's shoulders, looked him in the eyes for a fraction of a second, then yanked him forward and kissed him hard.

"_Mmmf_," said House, and slapped Wilson's ass before pulling him closer. Wilson ran his right hand slowly through House's hair.

His left hand snaked around behind House and grabbed a bell pepper off the shelf.

"Uh-uh," House mumbled, and smacked Wilson's hand.

All of a sudden Wilson broke the kiss, threw the pepper into the cart with the eggplant, and made for the express checkout at a run.

"You bitch!" House cried, limping after him. "How _could_ you?"

"Thought I'd try a new trick," Wilson said as House caught up with him at the cash register. "I got creative."

"I'm still not eating it."

"What if I have some more new tricks for cooking it?"

"I'm _still_ not eating it."

Wilson leaned close. "What if I have some _more_ new tricks for _after_ dinner?" he breathed into House's ear.

House stared at Wilson, then grabbed the bag of groceries from the clerk. "Let's go. Let's go home and have dinner right now."

"Hold on, I still have to pay," said Wilson, as he turned to the register. "Sorry, do you take debit?"

"Everybody takes debit! Let's go!"

"Cash back? Um, let me think…"

"You don't need it! Let's _go_!"

"Thank you _so_ much," said Wilson to the cashier, taking the receipt with a big smile. "You have a great night too."

"The sooner you cook that damn eggplant," said House, pulling Wilson by the arm out the door, "the sooner _I_ will."

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[note: and that's that—thanks for reading, and please review if you have time!]


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